


The Dark Knight Prince and his Sorcerer of Speed

by radiations



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, bruce being cold and distant but wally and his banter warming him up, have you watched merlin please watch merlin, like the slowest of burns, love this with me..., ok but think about wally helping bruce into his armor, wally falling slowly in love with this asshole prince
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:34:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiations/pseuds/radiations
Summary: In a land where sorcery is forbidden and punishable by death, Wally West is a young man struggling to gain control of his speed. Finding himself in Gotham, and serving under a cold distant Prince, Wally struggles to keep his secret. Bruce Wayne finds himself in the presence of an unruly, unfit, manservant who disappears at odd hours, returns with bruises, and wonders if there is more than meets the eye. An unlikely friendship blooms, that of a prince and his manservant, and fate unravels only to entwine these two souls together. A past and future secret, with a past and future king, and magic that transcends time itself.This is a Merlin AU where our main characters are Wally West and Bruce Wayne, and all they have is secrets, formalities, and a growing relationship.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I REALLY HOPE THIS TURNS OUT TO BE A LOT OF FUN AND YOU ALL LIKE THIS. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! And, find me at batflashed on tumblr!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this off super formal and cracky, but I'm sure it'll mellow out to the nice hurt/comfort I'm hoping for! Please enjoy, and let me know how you feel!

The Kingdom of Gotham was a forbidden land to those with magic, swift to execute all such offending parties at the slightest inkling of witchcraft. Sorcerers and the likes knew to avoid the land, aware of the laws bound to it and its harsh ruler, King Thomas Wayne.

Having lost his Queen, Martha Wayne, to an evil sorceress who inflicted a great curse on both her and the child she had yet to bear, a curse so great that her life perished upon labour and childbirth, Thomas Wayne kept his son, Prince Bruce Wayne, under a protected and watchful eye, while working consistently towards the eradication of magic in his land, and the lands surrounding it.

Young Wally West, a little younger than the prince himself, adhered to his mother’s words when she told him to never tread close to the territory of Gotham, to remain in Central Keystone, a safe haven for those with magic, a type of sanctuary in a world that was quickly outlawing sorcery of all kinds. Of course, Mary West had done the best she could to shield her only son, the son of a great sorcerer known to control speed and time itself, from a fate of death.

When Wally turned the crisp age of 18, his power – a power to harness an energy so great that time itself became fabric that could twist at his fingertips – it was time for his mother to send him to the only mentor sorcerer she’d come across, and a close relative, – a man by the name of Barry Allen. The only catch, however, was that Barry Allen worked in Gotham Castle, a right hand adviser of King Wayne himself.

And it is now that the setting is set, a past and future secret embedded in time itself, a future that begins with a clumsy freckled redhead stumbling into the likes of a cold prince among his knights, where our young heroes fates entwine and thread together.

This is a tale of bonds, rules of the land and rules of magic itself, the rules that bound sorcery and destiny, friend and foe, good and evil – and above all else, two young boys reflecting the opposite sides of a coin. This is a tale of a prince and his manservant, a tale of growth, secrets, the cost of truth, fate, and change.


	2. Cruel and Unusual Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally heard the sound of metal scraping, the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Great. He was going to die. Or be challenged to some kind of duel. What the hell was Gotham, anyway? ...Also, princes are arrogant pricks.

_Eyes up, Wally_ , his mother’s voice chided as Wally’s entire front collided with the likes of something silver and metal. He yelped, falling backwards and the redhead found himself flailing before landing with a thud on his backside. Instead of laughter, there was a sudden hush in his immediate surroundings, and Wally blinked, rubbing at his forehead before looking up, frowning.

The person he’d walked into was wearing _armor_ , for some reason, and cool blue eyes met his, narrowed and unamused. Wally blinked again, looking around to see others, likely the other young man’s acquaintances, all appearing quite close to his own age. Wrinkling his nose and missing Keystone Central, where a hand would now have been offered to him, Wally pushed himself up to his feet.

As he dusted himself off, he was acutely aware of a crowd forming - though to what end, he’d yet to piece together.

“Er, sorry, my fault,” Wally stammered, finally letting his gaze be drawn back to those piercing ice blues, still fixed on him – fixed on him with disinterest and disdain. Deeply discomfited by the gaze, he ran a hand through his tousled crimson strands and shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

“An apology?” Someone scoffed, somewhere amidst the gathered crowd, and Wally wrinkled his nose again, now rubbing the back of his neck as he looked uneasily from the other man to the other stern gazes, gazes that were unforgiving and harsh.

The redhead struggled to quell the sudden rush of terror – that he’d somehow given himself away, given away his magic, that it would only take one day in Gotham for him to be executed.

His poor mother.

“Surely he doesn’t think a mere apology would suffice,” another voice said, and Wally fought the strange urge to run, pushed back the nausea accompanying the sudden claustrophobia.

“Am I supposed to kiss his _boot_?” Wally found himself asking, the words slipping from his lips before he could reign the sarcasm and exasperation back in. He tended to talk when he was uncomfortable – well, more like _ramble_ , and there was a collective intake of breath at his words that immediately caused him to bite his tongue.

…Who _was_ this guy?

“Shall I take care of it, sire?” Another man, no older than himself, said, stepping forward and to Wally’s horror, placing his hand to the hilt of his sword, resting at his belt.

The offending blue eyed boy had yet to say a word, but at the other’s words – who, now that Wally looked closer, appeared to be some kind of _knight_ – held out a hand, preventing the other from stepping any closer.

A moment passed, and Wally was certain that he was going to throw up. And then, finally, those pale pink lips parted, and the voice that left them was deep, distant, and dry:

“It is a privilege to kiss my boot.”

...Alright. Wally didn’t care who this _prat_ was, probably some kind of arrogant nobility, and the last thing the asshole deserved was an _apology_.

“It was an accident,” Wally deadpanned, though his hands clenched into fists as the telltale of electricity shot through his veins. And just as the thought crossed his mind, it left his lips, “This is a waste of my time.”

The blue eyes narrowed even more, and Wally heard the sound of metal scraping, the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Great. He was going to _die_. Or be challenged to some kind of _duel_. What the _hell_ was Gotham, anyway?

“Have you no reason, peasant? No idea of who it is you address?” Another knight demanded, stepping forward and Blue Eyed Asshole cleared his throat at the other’s words. The knights stilled, and Wally found himself wondering who the _hell_ this guy was.

“Some nobility prat with no sense of common courtesy,” slipped the words from his mouth, petulant and defiant, as Wally met Blue Eyes’ gaze once more, glaring now.

Wally was fast – that was his power, and so it was not quite as quick as it was meant to be. He saw the other’s hand finally move to his own sword, watched the blade slide from its casing and knew he could have disappeared – moved away before it was even completely unsheathed.

But he didn’t move.  Not because he couldn’t – the electricity was far more prominent in his veins now, bubbling and urging him to depart, but because he wouldn’t. He would not run from the likes of _these_ , those with no honor or manners, no sense of compassion or humility, and of course – he knew it was only a death sentence for him to reveal himself.

So, now, with the edge of a sword pressed to his neck, Wally only slightly moved back – to keep it from nicking his skin.

“How dare you address the Prince of Gotham in such a way?” and the words were low, _dangerous_ , and suddenly, Wally realized he perhaps did have a death wish.

…His poor mother.

* * *

He should have run while he’d had the chance. Forget this forsaken kingdom and return home, to his mother, ask for another mentor – one who didn’t reside in a place so _unwelcoming_. Instead, Wally found himself now in the presence of a large hall, at the end which a man sat on a throne. The king, presumably.

He was going to be executed, and for reasons that were not his magic. How absolutely _absurd_. He shot a glance at the forsaken arrogant prince now standing stiffly next to the King, arms folded over his chest and staring coldly at Wally. Wally, who’d been forced to his knees in the presence of the king, with soldiers at his side and a small gathering of unfamiliar faces, resisted the urge to throw up.

“I am told you  have been dishonorable to your prince, lad,” came the rumbling voice of the king, and Wally wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“He’s not _my_ prince,” he immediately responded, before feeling his face heat up. Damn it, he needed to _stop_ talking. At his words, the tension in the room thickened, got colder some how, and the expression of the king was one of utmost displeasure.

“Such treachery. Tell me your name, and do not think to be dishonest,” was the demand that now met his ears, words that rang of authority – and Wally tore his gaze from the king’s, to his son. Arrogant _prick_ of a prince.

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Wally vehemently protested, struggling to get to his feet, his hands efficiently tied behind his back. He could, of course, undo the knot and disappear before anyone in his presence bothered to blink – but this was a matter of _dignity_. That – and perhaps, Wally thought too highly of his audience, to consider them capable of reason. Some guy from behind him pushed him back down, and Wally grunted, annoyed. 

“Silence.”

Wally’s jaw snapped shut, biting his tongue in the process and he winced.

“Bruce, a public flogging and then a week in the stocks, then?” The words were now directed to the prince, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Wally since the entire ordeal had begun. Wally bristled, feeling indignant. A _flogging_? The _stocks_? All for the fact that he’d been _clumsy_ and refused to kiss some prince’s _boot_?

The electricity whipped through him, sharp and earnest. He blinked quickly, hoping the light wouldn’t reach his eyes and give himself away, and turned his gaze from piercing cold blue to the stone floor he knelt on.

“I hardly think that should suffice, father,” came the words of the arrogant _child_ , and Wally resisted the urge to snap at him. “He’s shown us disrespect, even in your presence. Perhaps he cannot be disciplined.”

The words were cold, detached, and Wally wondered if the boy _always_ spoke like that – like some kind of petulant _robot_.

“Announce your name to the court,” came the demand once more, and Wally felt the sharp tip of a blade press to the back of his neck. Sighing, and twisting his wrists in the ropes around them, Wally raised his gaze to meet those of the King’s.

“Wally West, your majesty.” There, have at _that_.

At his words, there was a sudden shuffling and a rather tall man in a red robe, with blonde hair peeking out from under the hood, moved towards the king.

“Sire, my deepest apologies,” came the voice from the man with the hood, and then his lifted his hood from his head, revealing a kind face with bright warm blue eyes. “Your highness, this young man is an apprentice of mine – one that has been sent to serve me from Keystone Central.”

Wait. What?

… _This_ was his mentor? Not some old guy with a long beard? Wait – this was the secret _sorcerer_? Wally’s lips parted in surprise as he stared, as the man now met his own gaze from where he stood, next to the king.

“He shows no such skills or competency to serve as your apprentice,” the king now said, speaking directly to the man that Wally could now name as Master Barry Allen. An uncle of his, though it was likely that wouldn’t come out in this setting.

“I am told by very credible sources in Central Keystone that he is the best of his classes, having mastered skills at a very young age, and has the makings to be a valuable resource in the kingdom.” Wally blinked at the praise and stared at his uncle with surprise, before realizing the man was _lying_. Sure, he was the best in his class – but he wasn’t here as an apprentice to serve the kingdom. He was here to get a handle on his _magic_. The magic now boiling in his veins, tearing through his blood. 

“I cannot let this insolence go, Allen,” the king said, a touch of warning in his voice and Wally found his gaze drawn back to the prince, who was blinking at Barry with surprise.

“I assure you that he will be punished accordingly. But, sire, I am in dire need of an apprentice, and I am told that there is none other better than young Wallace here.”

A moment passed as Wally’s future was deliberated, and Wally couldn’t help but wonder, yet again, if it was too late to simply run back home.

“Father. That is unfair.” Bruce suddenly said, only the slightest inflection upwards indicating any such bitter emotion. His expression was sour, and Wally wrinkled his nose in response.

“Quiet, son.”

Another brief pause, and Wally found himself holding the gaze of his uncle, who apparently – and quite effectively – was telling him to shut up and not say a word with his eyes.

Huh.

“I’ve decided.” Wally looked up at the king at the words spoken, and Wally realized the blade was no longer held to the back of his neck. He let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Wallace West, you will administer to my son during the day as his manservant, tending to his every need, until you retire in the evening to meet your duties as an apprentice. Should you refuse, or be unable to abide by this order, you will be placed in the stocks for one week, and required to clean the stables for three months, all the while continuing to perform as an apprentice.”

Wally blinked, attempting to process the words just as Bruce stepped forward, a great frown creasing his forehead.

“Father, I have no need for such a nuisance of a manservant-“

“Do you doubt my decision, Bruce?”

Wally couldn’t even register the strange father and son interaction, too busy mentally gagging on the word – _manservant_? What? _What_?

Didn’t he have a say in this?!

“I’ll clean the stables!” Wally blurted out, leaning forward a bit, only to lose balance and fall over, his hands still tied behind his back.

Silence greeted his words, other than the shuffling of Wally trying to pull himself back up, shifting a bit onto his elbow. There was a moment, before Wally heard the sound of a deep, rumbling, laugh.

Angling himself to look up, Wally saw the king, eyes alight with amusement, and the slightest flush on the prince’s face, looking rather affronted.

“Did you hear that, son? The lad would rather clean up after horses than look after you!” The king announced, before laughing once more and shaking his head. “To the stocks, then,” he announced, and Wally found himself being roughly hoisted back up to his feet, his knees knocking together as he was suddenly pushed forward.

Ah, wait, he’d forgotten the stocks part. Though, anything would probably be better than serving such a _prat_ , Wally considered, before –

“He is to be my manservant then,” Bruce suddenly announced, and Wally was jerked to a stop, before forcibly turned around to face the other boy. Bruce had taken a couple steps forward and folded his arms over his chest. “You will tend to me first thing in the morning. I expect my breakfast in my room before I wake, and the fire kindled.”

Wally gaped at him, before noticing the looks of amusement on both the king and his uncle.

“Wait-“

But the arrogant prince did not wait, and instead, turned on his heel and stormed off the platform, exiting the hall without another word.

…He should have run home. Perhaps a death sentence would have been _better._

 


	3. Princely Prats and Manhandled Manservants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princes are strange and Wally probably should have ran while he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to tumblr user paracosmosey for stunning fan art that can be found here, and thank you so much for reading!: http://batflashed.tumblr.com/post/163987956559/paracosmosey-batflasheds-merlin-batflash-au

Wally jolted awake from a terrible nightmare – where he’d been sent to burn at the stake, and a certain young man with cold blue eyes had laughed maniacally as bats – why  _bats_ _,_  Wally had no idea – had swept in to claw at his eyes. 

The redhead wiped at the cold sweat on his forehead before stifling a yawn, and wondering just how much of his nightmare had been simply that; a nightmare. 

A little unsettled and uncertain as to why his internal alarm clock had woken him up so early, so early that the sun had yet to light the day, Wally moved to lie back against the bed that was much too hard for his liking. He wrinkled his nose, shutting his eyes – 

Only to shoot back up, eyes widening. This wasn’t his home. And last night – hadn’t been a dream. Scanning his surroundings, electricity pumping through his veins in alarm, Wally tried to piece together exactly where he was and what it was that he needed to do – 

Electricity burst from within him and Wally shot out of the bed, only to crash into the cabinet next to him, and then sped away from it – only to smack into the wall across from it with a loud thud. Panic causing his nerves to flurry unpredictably, Wally struggled to regain control of his power, to slow down – but the unfamiliar setting and the harsh reminder of yesterday caused his bones to vibrate at a pace he couldn’t control.

“Wally. Calm down,” came a voice that sounded far too slow, far too low, and Wally struggled to locate it, trying to align his vision with the rest of the world and jerking away from the wall, only to stumble into a side table, and promptly hearing the clatter of objects hitting the floor. He was still shaking, trying to resist the urge to zip from one end of the room to the other. 

“Wally,” and this time, the voice was more stern, and more clear – almost as though spoken to match a wavelength of his own speed, and suddenly – there was his uncle, perfectly still and in front of him, eyes bright and frown creasing his forehead. Oh.  _Oh_. 

The world slowed down, and with the world, so did Wally – Barry following suit. Wally exhaled, once the floor beneath him steadied, and staggered slightly to sit down on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over his face before scanning the room, now greeted with broken vases and scattered books on the floor. 

“Your mother was right. You have very little control over your power,” Barry said, after a moment, and the bed sank next to him as the older man took a seat next to him. “Though, your speed...does not quite compare to the speed of others, even those with our abilities, does it?”

Wally couldn’t think of a response, raising his head to look at the other. 

“Uh, I’m pretty fast,” he responded, offering a slight shrug. Barry nodded once, before glancing out the window. 

“You should tend to your duties. I hear that Prince Bruce can be fairly cranky if he wakes to a cold room and an empty platter for breakfast,” Barry said, and Wally barely registered the words. 

Until he froze.

And then groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. 

“That wasn’t a nightmare, then?” He moaned, only to have his uncle chuckle. 

“It could have been far worse.” Barry got to his feet, as Wally considered the rather ominous implications of those words. “Best get ready then. I’ll see you this evening.”

Wally pushed himself back to his feet, grabbing the crimson scarf his mother had wrapped around his neck before he’d left home. 

“There’s a well out front for you to wash up, before you tend to the prince,” Barry offered and Wally nodded, trying not to wince at the words. “Oh, and do remember,” Barry started, his tone a touch more serious than it had been thus far. 

Wally turned back to his uncle, raising an eyebrow, and then frowning a little at the rather stern expression he wore. 

“Sorcery is outlawed in this land. Punishable by death. See to it that you are not careless, and that you do not get yourself exposed. I will not be able to protect you, in that regard.” 

There was no hint of amusement in Barry’s words, and Wally simply nodded before exiting the room. 

Right. The very speed he could barely control – was all that stood between him, and death. 

* * *

Wally entered the prince’s room with a loud clatter, stumbling through the door and balancing the tray of food while trying not to trip over his own feet. His mother had mentioned to him, long ago, that his lack of coordination was tied into his inability to control his speed, but that hardly offered as justification to Bruce who groaned at the intrusion and left Wally dodging a chalice thrown in his general direction. 

“Hey, watch it!” Wally exclaimed, managing not to drop the tray before carefully setting it down on the table next to the bed. He wrinkled his nose and didn’t give the bed another glance, instead moving towards the fireplace. 

He crouched by the wood, gathering some kindling, just as he heard shuffling on the bed behind him. 

“How dare you address me in that tone?” demanded a voice rough with sleep and as petulant as ever. 

Wally didn’t respond, though he burst into a grin as the fire started – with a little help from his speed, though Barry nor Bruce need know – and straightened up, dusting off his hands. 

“It’s not nice to throw objects at people,” Wally informed the other, turning around – only to dodge what appeared to be a fork, that smacked into the wall behind him and hit the ground.

Merlin, this prince had a temper. 

“I do not have to be nice, I am the prince,” Bruce responded, sounding affronted, and Wally rolled his eyes, adjusting his neckerchief before rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“Well, that’s pretty silly,” Wally said, his tone light, before looking around the large room. “Uh, one of the handmaidens downstairs told me I was to pick out your outfit? What do you normally wear?” Wally voiced, wandering over to the rather large armoire. 

No response came, and Wally turned, looking over his shoulder at the prince, now seated up right and giving Wally a rather odd look. 

“Are you thick?” 

Wally blinked at that, before immediately frowning. Not nice at  _all_. 

“This is my first day on the job, in case you’ve forgotten,” Wally reminded the other, testily, before turning back to the armoire and opening the door. “If you shall not help me, I’ll merely do as I please.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Bruce said, his tone now strange, and no longer as annoyed and angry as it had been earlier. “I’m to be your king, one day.”

“Hopefully not very soon,” Wally responded, pulling out a rather regal looking outfit. Royal blue. Princes wore blue fairly often, didn’t they?

“You cannot  _say_  that,” Bruce responded from behind him, tone emphatic. “That’s  _treason_.”

“It’s merely fact,” Wally answered absently, turning around and taking the outfit to where the prince was seated, breakfast still untouched. He spread out the outfit over the sheets near the end of the bed before looking up at Bruce. “You were ready to stone me yesterday for not kissing your boot. Hardly king material.” Wally stated, in a matter of fact tone. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. 

“Anyone in your position would be  _humbled_  to serve me.” 

“I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I’d rather clean the stables,” Wally responded, now folding his arms over his chest. “Though, as your…whatever it is I am, I suppose I’m to tend to that regardless, huh?” The lady downstairs had, after all, informed him as such. 

Bruce merely stared at him. 

"Manservant. My manservant."

Right. Wally made a face, and Bruce didn't look away, expression mildly perplexed.

A moment passed, and Wally ended up averting his gaze, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Despite it all, the other  _was_  fairly intimidating. When Wally glanced back, the other had begun eating, and Wally let out a small sigh. 

Was he supposed to stand here and watch the prince eat? 

“Er, I suppose I should go,” Wally started, after a moment, as Bruce paused to take a sip of water. 

“You’re to stand there until I dismiss you,” Bruce responded without letting a beat pass, and lifting the fork to his lips once more. 

Wally sighed, only to receive a rather sharp look from the other boy. 

After a couple moments, the fork was lowered to the tray once more, and those piercing blue eyes met his green ones once more. 

“I would not have stoned you.”

Wally blinked at the statement, and then snorted. 

“I suppose I’m to be grateful for that, then?” Wally found himself asking, walking over to the side of the bed and reaching for the platter. 

Wally saw it coming, time slowing down long enough for the redhead to track the other hand lifting, moving, and clasping around his wrist – but did nothing in the time granted to him by his speed to pull away. The other was fast – but not a  _fraction_  of the speed that Wally was capable of. 

And then, the grasp around his wrist was painful, earning Wally’s attention, as he snapped his gaze up to those blue ones, a hint of anger that was synonymous with  _dangerous_  in them. 

“Know your  _place_ , before you lose it – and far more.” 

The hold on his wrist was gone, and Wally blinked, a little stunned at the authority and  _heat_  in the threat. Wally stood there, dumbly and, frankly, a little shaken, until Bruce sighed. 

“You’re dismissed. Polish my armor and clean the stables. I will have lunch with my father, but you’re to bring me my dinner this evening. Shut the door on your way out.” 

It was only after Wally had closed the door behind him, the tray firm in his grasp, did he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

…Now _that_  had been terrifying.

* * *

It had taken approximately ten minutes for Wally to get sick of cleaning the stables at regular speed, and only about seven minutes for Wally to decide that polishing the armor at super speed was only a problem if he was found out. 

And, of course, no one had to know. Not when he was quick enough to pop outside the stable and the shed every so often to ascertain those in his immediate surroundings, without them noticing. 

Many others who had the power of speed, even at their highest pace, was still visible to the human eye, as either a flash or a blur of colour. Wally, on the other hand, managed a speed so fast that it was not visible, other than the wind left in his wake – that could often be attributed to wind itself. 

Which left Wally now, well into the afternoon, napping on a pile of hay next to perfectly polished armor and smelling of horse…feces. 

But, other than that, duties that would have taken him  _hours_  – complete. What he  _didn’t_  expect was the door to open, disturbing his doze and alerting him to the presence of –

“Where on earth is that incompetent, godforsaken – West!” Wally blinked, stifling a yawn and moving to sit up a bit as the prince entered. “Have you abandoned your duties!?” 

God, this prince had a pipe up his arse. 

“No, I’ve completed them,” Wally responded roughly, rubbing at his eyes before clambering to his feet. The use of his speed always required a rather full meal and rest immediately after, though it was starting to seem unlikely that he’d have access to both any time soon. 

“Impossible!” Bruce snapped, storming to where Wally stood, and Wally gestured at the armor before yawning once more. 

“What’s impossible is the likelihood of you wearing all of your amour every single day. Why must it  _all_  be cleaned?” 

Bruce didn’t respond, instead stalking past him to inspect a helmet and then draw a sword from its casing. 

“To prevent rust…” Bruce said, after a moment, sounding a little caught off guard. “How…did you get this done so quickly?” He turned then, looking at Wally suspiciously, and Wally tensed up.

He’d been an idiot to think he’d get away with it. 

“I…er…” Wally started, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to refrain from the sudden urge to shake, willing the electricity to calm, as well as with his panic. The urge to run came far too quick. 

“You had help, didn’t you!?” Bruce accused, almost triumphantly, and a gloved flinger pointed at Wally in defiance.

Ah, right. 

“Please – it’s my fault, not theirs,” Wally quickly responded, taking the excuse. Anything that didn’t point at him using his powers. 

"Of course it's your fault," Bruce said, dismissively, eyes narrowed as he looked away. "You're to help in the kitchens at once, until dinner is served. Since you're so  _inclined_ to work with others." 

Wally parted his lips to protest, but his stomach grumbled rather loudly at the thought of food. 

Bruce's eyes then lit up, while the redhead flushed. "And you're not to eat until  _after_  I've had my dinner."

Sounding somewhat accomplished, Bruce left the stable and a thoroughly irritated redhead in his wake. 

\--- 

The kitchens weren't that bad, considering the nice older lady, had offered him a change of clothes – a rather large plain shirt – and some bread as soon as he'd arrived. Of course, she'd considered it unacceptable for Wally to smell like the stables and go without food. 

Time went by relatively slowly, as Wally watched the cooks preparing dinner for their king and prince. 

"He's a bit of a prat, isn't he?" Wally said, before reaching for a slice of cheese off the cutting board. The woman, her name Margeret, gave him a rather sharp look, while Wally heard one of the younger girls laugh from behind him. 

"You're going to get yourself killed, Wally," she said joyously, before bouncing past him to the large pot over the burner and giving it a stir. 

"She's not wrong," Margeret added, as another woman made a noise of affirmation behind her.

"Proves my point, then, doesn't it?" Wally responded, hopping up on the counter and kicking his feet. The need to constantly keep moving subsided from the lack of a proper meal, but the power still rushed through his veins. 

"Take this tray out to the prince." Another woman, younger – perhaps closer to his own age – said softly, a slight smile on her lips. "Stand behind him and refill his cup whenever it empties. If it is wine that they are drinking, after the second cup – ensure that you are only giving him the water." 

Wally blinked, easing off the counter to take the tray she held in her hands. 

"Uh, okay." 

"If you don't like the prince now, you don't want to know how he is after a couple drinks," a man slicing rather large chunks of goat, informed him from the side. 

Mentally writing himself a note, Wally nodded before glancing down at the tray and hearing his stomach growl once more. 

Maybe being stoned to death would have been better. 

* * *

Bruce didn't even acknowledge Wally when he stepped into his room, seated at a desk by the window and turning sheets of paper. 

"Uh, your dinner is served," Wally said, after a moment of hovering in the door way and finally stepping in. The other made a noncommittal noise, before gesturing to the side table. Wally took his cue, walking over and setting the tray down before, once more, awkwardly standing at the edge of the table. 

A couple moments of the nib of the fountain pen scratching against parchment, before silence, and Wally's fixed gaze on a spot on the wall turned over to the desk. Bruce was staring at him. 

"Why are you still here?" Bruce deadpanned, and Wally could sense nothing familiar in his tone. None of the dismissal, none of the annoyance, and not even any of the strange, intimidating, anger. 

"I'm to tend to you as you eat, am I not?" Wally responded, a little careful with his words. He resisted the sudden urge to twist at his neckerchief, feeling displaced. 

Bruce simply stared at him. 

"I won't be eating until later. You may leave." 

Wally hesitated, having difficulty reconciling this formal Bruce with the petulant tantrum throwing one from earlier that day. 

Recognizing that leaving would be best, and he probably should stay in his lane, Wally still couldn't help the words that slipped from his lips. 

"Are you okay?"

Bruce had returned his attention to the papers in front of him, but at Wally's question, stilled. 

Slowly, Bruce looked up, just as Wally felt heat rush to his face. 

"It's not your place to ask," came the other's answer, and Wally felt a little ruffled. 

"Then whose is it?" Wally threw back, eyebrows furrowing. "If I'm to tend to you, then is that not one of my duties?" 

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and Wally regretted not leaving when he'd been told to. 

"Fine. Stand there." Bruce looked back down at the pages, and Wally internally groaned. 

A couple long moments later, when Wally's legs were protesting, his stomach was grumbling, and he couldn't manage standing still any longer, Bruce finally stood and Wally's gaze snapped to him. 

"Have you eaten?" Bruce asked, crossing the room to the side table and taking a seat in front of the tray. 

Wally offered a slight shrug, still watching the prince warily. 

"A little," Wally responded, somewhat honestly. 

His stomach growled in accompaniment, and Bruce rolled his eyes. The tension dropped significantly as he started to eat, and Wally lifted the goblet of wine to Bruce's glass, pouring. 

"There is target practice tomorrow morning. You will be present." Bruce announced, after drinking the first glass and holding it for Wally to fill it up once more. 

"Er, sure."

"Sire."

Wally blinked. "Uh, what?"

"You're to call me sire. You may as well begin practicing now," Bruce added, before returning to his meal. 

Wally squinted a little. 

"...Sire?"

"In front of the other knights. I will not allow you to talk to me as you have been today. You address me inappropriately."

Wally didn't really have a response to that. 

"...Okay." Bruce glanced at him. "...Sire."

Bruce looked back down at his plate, and bit off a piece of bread. Wally's stomach grumbled again. 

"Next time, you're to feed yourself before you bring me dinner. Those sounds are unappetizing." 

Wally bristled slightly. 

"Sorry. Sire." He let the pause linger between the words, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. Bruce made a sound that sounded somewhat like a scoff, and Wally fixed his gaze on the ceiling. 

Once Bruce finished, Wally stepped forward to take the tray and Bruce returned to his feet. 

"You're dismissed. See to it that you are fed, and that you are here early tomorrow morning." That strange air of formality had returned, and Bruce took a seat at the desk once more. 

"...Sire?" Wally tried, and Bruce looked up at him, looking detached, almost. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Bruce simply gazed at Wally, the look almost soft. 

"You're dismissed, West. Leave me, so that I may perform the duties of a prince." The words sounded off, as though repeated to Wally from someone else. 

Wally nodded, before leaving, feeling only slightly unsettled until his stomach reminded him of something far more important. 

* * *

"How was your first day?" Barry asked, as Wally stuffed the fourth loaf of bread into his mouth haphazardly. Thankfully Barry had an appetite that was similar to his own, though somewhat subsided. 

"I'd have preferred the stoning," Wally said, after he'd finished swallowing, and Barry gave him a startled look. 

"Surely it couldn't have been that bad?"

Wally shrugged, before grabbing a couple slices of the chicken breast and sandwiching it between two slices of bread. 

"I don't get the prince," Wally said, before taking a bite, and chewing quickly. 

"I've known him since he was very young," Barry said, taking a seat across from Wally. "You'll warm up to him. Those close to him tend to."

Wally swallowed another bite, and then wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I'm going to be close to him."

Barry let out a hearty laugh at that, leaving Wally to frown at him. 

"He doesn't like me, Barry," Wally said, setting the sandwich down and remembering Bruce's tone from earlier. 

"He doesn't like many, Wally. But he will like you, if he doesn't already."

Wally didn't know what  _that_  meant, let alone how to  _respond_  to that, so he settled for saying nothing at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
